Tattooed, Tested, and Touring: Somewhere Between Purpose and Panic

PRSL
May 15
6 min read

I think people romanticize the road a lot. The music. The backstage views. The cities. The idea of constantly being surrounded by concerts and bands you grew up loving. And don’t get me wrong, there really are beautiful moments hidden inside all of this chaos. There are nights where I stop and think, “holy shit, this is actually my life.”

But there’s another side people don’t really see. Or maybe they just don’t want to. Because no matter how loudly I talk about the exhaustion, the burnout, or the days I feel like I’m actively drowning under the weight of all of this, those parts somehow get overshadowed by the pretty lights and the romanticized version of road life. That version is easier for people to hold onto than the reality of what this life can actually cost someone.

Human beings can be complicated and we can contain multitudes.

Before this tour even officially started, I had already driven 2,507 miles getting from Denver to Sing Us Home and then toward Atlanta. That alone cost $746.23 in gas. Somewhere along the highway, a windshield wiper literally flew off the van because apparently road life enjoys keeping things interesting.

To be fully transparent, Sing Us Home helped us tremendously with around $1,200 in donations toward the cause. At the same time, I ended every night of that festival sleeping in the parking lot and using someone’s hotel shower just to feel human again for a few minutes.

And honestly? Being able to sleep in that parking lot felt like luxury. I know that probably sounds ridiculous to most people, but having a place where I felt safe, where I didn’t have to stress about getting kicked out, finding another spot at 2 a.m., or worrying about someone bothering me was incredible. I had my little camper toilet. I could just exist for a second without constantly being on alert. The convenience and peace of mind genuinely felt like a 10/10 after so many nights of always having to figure it out as I go.

Zoom in on the first day of tour with Yellowcard, New Found Glory, and Plain White Tees... It was easily the first day of tour. The timing was slightly off and a lot of the audience got trapped in a downpour meaning the audience came in soaking and frazzled. We still managed to swab 12 people and raise around $2,000 in donations. In the moment, it felt huge. Like maybe we could breathe for a second.

Florida added another $170.62 in gas. The heat was pushing 95 degrees, so we ended up getting hotels because there was no safe way to keep the dogs in that kind of weather. Two nights cost around $300, but their safety matters more than trying to prove we can “rough it.” We stopped in Saint Pete to pick up Narcan supplies for the upcoming dates, which honestly felt incredibly important. Harm reduction supplies are one of those behind-the-scenes parts of this work people probably don’t think about often. These items don’t just magically appear at our table. They take planning, coordination, storage, extra driving, and sometimes completely rerouting our schedules just to make sure we can get resources into people’s hands.

Having these items available matters deeply to me personally. I lost a friend to an overdose, and not a day goes by where I don’t think about how differently things could have gone if Narcan had been available back then. That loss stays with me in every conversation we have at the table. It’s also a reminder of where I come from. I’m from West Virginia, where overdose and addiction are not distant issues people read headlines about. They are real, visible, everyday realities. Harm reduction is not optional there. It is a genuine need.

The actual show setup in Florida was inside a casino which is always a little surreal. Casinos come with a lot of rules, which meant no harm reduction distribution and no donation-based merch setup. That changes the entire dynamic of the table. It becomes less interactive. Less community based. More limited. We still showed up and had conversations, but it felt strange not being able to fully do what we normally do. We were able to swab 16 people for the registry and it was lovely to be with the SOFLO crew. My heart was instantly happier and lighter.

Another $302.54 in gas just to get toward Lexington. And then Lexington humbled me immediately.

Wheel bearings. Three tires. Oil change. Inspection. 1400.00 gone in the blink of an eye, and that was after the mechanic cut almost $500 off because I was sitting there trying to explain that I genuinely did not know how I was supposed to make this work otherwise. Then another $82.80 in gas to get ourselves to Detroit.

And that’s the part people don’t really see when they tell me how cool this life must be.

They don’t see the constant math happening in my head. They don’t see me sitting in parking lots checking balances and calculating miles. They don’t see the panic that creeps in every time a new noise comes from the van. They don’t see the days where donations barely cover gas, let alone repairs or food or insurance or supplies. They don’t see how quickly thousands of dollars disappear just trying to keep a nonprofit moving city to city.

People see photos from shows. They see the bands, the laminates, the crowds, the adventures, and the version of this life that looks exciting from the outside.I see gas receipts. Repair invoices. Dead batteries because the solar stopped working. I see exhaustion so heavy some days it feels hard to think straight. I see constantly trying to figure out where the dogs can safely exist during the day while also trying to build community and help other people feel less alone. I see myself quietly wondering if the van is going to survive another thousand miles and, if I’m being fully honest, wondering if I am too.

If you’ve read my blogs lately, then you already know this weight has been catching up to me. The stress has been catching up to me. I don’t think I’ve been particularly quiet about the fact that I am struggling. There are days this life feels meaningful and beautiful, and there are other days where it feels like I am barely keeping my head above water while still trying to convince everyone around me that I can handle it.

But I also see the moments that make all of it matter. I promise, I see it.

The person who quietly tells me they lost someone to addiction too. The person who signs up for the registry because they realized they could literally save a life. The kid who takes Narcan because they “might know someone who needs it one day.” The hugs. The stories. The people who come back and say, “thank you for being here.”

That’s the thing about this life though. It can feel incredibly meaningful and completely exhausting at the exact same time. And somehow, the purpose behind all of this still manages to outweigh the panic just enough to keep us driving toward the next city. So stay tuned while I keep sharing what tour actually looks like behind the photos and music. Some weeks, like this one, are going to be heavier and centered around the financial realities and emotional weight of surviving on the road. Other weeks will hopefully be filled with more shows, more conversations, more impact, and somehow… even more miles.

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The travel breakdown so you are up to date with what we have accomplished from Sing Us Home to Detroit.

80 people registered for the bone marrow registry

350 doses given out

200 earplugs passed out

4599 miles on the road

3,600.00 in donations

1302.19 in gas (prices are only going up which is terrifying)

350.00 in lodging (2 hotels and 1 KOA so I could charge everything in the van)

1425.00 in van maintenance (new windshield wiper, wheel bearings, 3 tires, oil change, inspection)

250.00 in parking fees

120.00 in toll fees